Not Their Usual Kind of Thing
by Leona Esperanza
Summary: When several of their own are kidnapped, a rescue is performed by those left behind.  Oneshot, written for the No Names challenge on NFA.


Title: "Not Their Usual Kind of Thing" ~ Winner of the NFA No Names Challenge  
>Genre: Action, Drama<br>Characters: Written for the No Names Challenge, so you'll have to guess  
>Rating: FR13<br>Spoilers: None  
>Prompt: IMSLES issued the No Names Challenge on NFA – no names or nicknames allowed!<p>

* * *

><p>Not Their Usual Kind of Thing<p>

On the other side of the wall, he crouched, the gun an unfamiliar weight in his hands. He concentrated on keeping his breaths deep and even, breathing in – _one, two, three, four_ – breathing out – _one, two, three, four._ Closed his eyes, shut out sight, focused on listening. Waited for the right time to act.

"How much longer?" the one with the gravelly voice asked impatiently.

"Five minutes til the drop. Then the boss calls, we kill them, dump 'em somewhere outside the city, and run like hell. Then two days til we meet up and get our share." The younger man snickered. "Three days til I'm on the beach with the ladies in sunny Mexico, and you're – well, whatever."

"Hey, one thing at a time, man. We still gotta get out of here without getting caught."

He heard the sound of footsteps – the rough-voiced man was a nervous pacer. Held his breath as the steps came closer to his hiding place than they ever had before. All the guy had to do was turn the corner… But he didn't. The footsteps paused, then started again, back the way they had come.

"_Are you in position?"_ The voice coming from the earwig startled him, even though he'd been expecting it.

Since he didn't dare speak, this close to the target, he shifted the gun to a one-handed grip and tapped on the wrist microphone, as they'd agreed. One tap for yes, two for no. He tapped once.

"_Good. Were you able to locate all of them?"_

Tap.

"_Are they all being held in the same place?"_

Tap.

"_Are the kidnappers there as well?"_

Tap.

"_Drat. I was rather hoping not, but we'll make do with what we have. You know, this does remind me of a time in Boston when –"_

Tap, tap.

"_Yes, you're right, of course. Well, wish me luck."_

He heard nothing more through the earwig for several minutes. He counted the seconds, both as a way to track time and to focus his breathing, until finally, he heard the knock on the door in the next room.

"What the hell?" The pacing stopped abruptly; then it resumed, moving purposefully toward the door.

"Who is it?"

"I dunno, some old guy. Looks harmless. Heh, even wears a bowtie." The sound of the deadbolt sliding back –

"Bowtie? No, don't! That's –"

The younger man's warning came too late, as the squeak of the door hinges attested.

"Good evening, gentlemen." The voice was deeper, more resonant, in person as opposed to hearing it through the earwig. "I ask that you put your hands in the air and take a few steps back, if you would be so kind." The words were respectful, but the tone was not – and the accent was thicker, as often happened when he was angry or tense.

A shuffling sound as the men complied. Behind the wall, he slowly rose to his feet, hands on the gun in the two-handed grip he'd been taught just hours before. Not yet, not yet…

"You really expect this to work, old man?" That was the younger one. The man behind the wall could easily imagine the sneer on the kidnapper's face. "You might have a gun, but there's two of us and only one of you. And I know you're not that quick with a gun."

_That_ was his cue. He stepped out from around the corner, brought the gun up, aimed it at the larger of the two men – definitely the easier target. "He doesn't have to be," he said, and felt a moment's satisfaction when the two men jumped. "Two of us, two of you, and two guns. Which _you_ don't have. How do you like your odds now?"

The younger one snorted, recovering quickly from the moment of shock he'd felt. "Seriously? He might not be quick with a gun, but _you_ don't even know how to use one! Do you think we're stupid? We know who you are!"

He hoped, he really hoped, that they couldn't see past the cocky grin he'd plastered on his face. "I know," he said, his tone carefully nonchalant. "He –" He jerked his head toward one of the five figures sitting bound and gagged against the far wall, the one with the silver hair. "He refuses to let me anywhere near his guns. Doesn't trust me with them. But here's the thing." He smiled even wider, shifted his stance, moved his finger just a hair closer to the trigger. "I've got lots of ammunition. I'm bound to hit one of you sooner or later."

The two kidnappers, hands still raised in the air, exchanged identical, disbelieving expressions. Then, acting at the same time, they charged in different directions, toward the men with the guns.

* * *

><p>He stood, ears still ringing – before today, he'd never really realized how <em>loud<em> gunshots were, especially in enclosed spaces – gun held in one hand, pointed at the floor. He stood, staring at the puddle of blood spreading across the floor, until a man's hand closed over his own and eased the gun out of his grip.

"Hey. You okay?"

He looked up into the worried blue eyes of the man who'd taken the gun from him. "It – it wasn't supposed to happen like this," he whispered. He sounded confused, lost. "They should have surrendered. They had to know what their chances were. Why didn't they?"

"The quick answer is, they underestimated the two of you." The blue eyes briefly flicked to the other side of the room, where the man in the bowtie was untying the last of their little group. The dark-haired man held out a hand to pull the newly-freed woman to her feet, while the lighter-haired man stood with his arms wrapped around another woman who leaned into him and laid her head on his shoulder. "The longer answer is, they'd rather take their chances with you than with their boss, if they'd failed."

"But they wouldn't have seen him. They'd have been sent to prison –"

"And there are plenty of convicted murderers who wouldn't have hesitated to take these two out, if the price was right." The silver-haired man shook his head. "They thought they knew all about us, thought they had all the high cards. They weren't expecting you to have an ace up your sleeve."

"I – I didn't. I was bluffing the whole way."

"I know." The blue-eyed man squeezed his shoulder briefly. "You did good."

The others were making their way over now. "Yeah, good job, man," the dark-haired man said, having caught the end of their conversation. "You did better than I thought you would. I had you down for five shots; you only took three."

"I thought it would be four," his partner said in her accented English. "You would not have had time for five before he tackled you. And once he took you down, I don't think you would have been able to hang onto the gun."

He rolled his eyes. "Was anyone else placing bets on my performance?" he asked sarcastically.

The lighter-haired man at least had the grace to look slightly ashamed. "Five," he admitted.

"Well, _I_ knew you could do it." The green-eyed woman enveloped him in a huge, bone-crushing hug. "You guys were wonderful!" She then turned and hugged their other rescuer, bending slightly to do so.

"That's very kind of you to say, my dear." The man patted her on the back. "Now, why don't we step outside for some fresh air? The director is sending another team, and they should be here any moment to take over the crime scene. He thinks you all have had quite enough excitement for the evening, and I, for one, concur."

The others obediently headed for the door, but he hung back, eyes once again dropping to the blood – and the body – on the floor.

"Hey." A hand lightly smacked the back of his head. "You did what you had to do. It's over."

"Yeah. I guess so." He started across the room, walking wide around the bodies of the kidnappers. Then he stopped, turning to look back at the other man. "I don't ever want to do this again," he said forcefully.

"I know."

"Next time –" He took a deep breath. "Next time, I don't want to have to bluff."

"Okay."

"Okay? That's it?"

"That's it. 0600 tomorrow, be at the firing range." The skin around those blue eyes crinkled in a smile. "I'll bring the coffee."

It was as close as the other man would get to saying 'thank you,' but it was good enough for him – and the trust implied by the offer was the highest praise he could ever have hoped to receive.


End file.
